Friendly Fire
by chronically radioactive
Summary: "I can't be their superhero anymore." Neutral Karma F!LW/Butch DeLoria. M for swearing and certain chapters later on.
1. Chapter One

Juliet opens the hulking metal door, stepping into the dim green and blue light of the Muddy Rudder. Her boots kick bottles of liquor around the floor, and they crunch against Potato Crisps bags that litter the floor.

She's biased towards Rivet City, and not just because it was the Wasteland's safest habitable area. It reminds her of home. Well, other than the huge number of drug addicts and alcoholics, of course. She just finds the thick, metal walls and fluorescent light soothing, compared to the brilliant sun in the Wasteland. She uses the word "home" lightly when describing Vault 101 to people she meets.

Vault 101 was simply the place she had been born and raised. D.C.'s central ruins and the scattered, singed forests around it are as much a home as the vault had been, if not more. She has months of experience – a whole year, even – traversing the Wasteland, traipsing into raider traps, strutting straight into minefields, and lugging shitloads of traded or scavenged items through heavily armored Super Mutant camps. Even still, she wouldn't trade the vast number of those memories for the narrow, monochrome halls of the vault.

It wasn't as if her escape from the dreary place had been especially heart-wrenching, anyway. Juliet has already spent months outside of the vault, and it has given her time to develop her own sense of right and wrong. When she looks back at the conditions of the vault, the unquestionable authority of the Overseer...she definitely considers it out of line. There were few people she had really, truly cared for in the first place anyway. Freddie, Amata, maybe even poor, crazy Beatrice…

The first few weeks of combing the wastes for her father along had been guilt-ridden, especially when she thought of her friends stuck with the Overseer's wrath. Betraying them and leaving without a goodbye was never the way she wanted to end things with the vault, and Juliet could barely stand it in the beginning. Now, the twenty-year-old remedies the repressed, negative emotions with the reminder that her father had done the same, and all for a fucking water purifier that never functioned - and never will.

When she passes by Brock, she tries not to let her clenched fists slam into the pool table. The memories of her dad slumping against the glass of the Rotunda in the Monument, telling her to run, to flee from the rads seeping into his blood stream are haunting.

Her only family.

Her father - the man who helped her outsmart Braun, helped her battle through the Super Mutant-infested Monument; the man who had _escaped_ from an un-escapable vault was dead at his own hands, beaten down by his own dedication to a program that couldn't possibly succeed.

He was _dead_, and all for _nothing_.

A feeling of betrayal and abandonment came crawling back to her when James breathed his last – the very same that she had felt a year ago when Amata shook her awake and told her that he had fled the vault.

Juliet shakes her head as she descends the rickety metallic steps towards the bar, turning her shoulder away from a few drunks who teeter up the stairs. She doesn't want to knock them on their pissed asses, because her temper is now growing frighteningly out of control.

Harkness looks up from his seat at right-end side of the bar, and motions her over with a wave of his hand. It's hard for the Lone Wanderer to remember that the fit and handsome security guard is an android, but when she spots the open bottle of whiskey and empty seat next to him, she figures she can make do. Juliet waves back, despite being a few feet away, and flashes him a world-weary smile. Nights like these, when Alex is off duty and she's in town, are special. While she hasn't ever been particularly attracted to Harkness, she finds the company of a friend rewarding, especially when they're willing to share a drink or two.

She slides one of the bar stools out, wincing as the metal legs squeal against the rusty floor of the bar. She plops down, shrugging off a heavy, distressed knapsack from her back and letting it drop to the floor.

Her dark, curly hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and a heavy storm has fortunately washed it of irradiated dirt and grease from her travels. The Recon armor Reilly gave her is full of dents and in desperate need of repair, but she's even more desperate for a few good glasses of whiskey.

"We've all been restless lately, Jules. Three Dog hasn't heard anything from you in weeks, so, you know... we haven't either," Harkness says when she settles into her seat. Juliet waves her hand at him, her way of saying 'drink first chat later.' Harkness grins in understanding, chugging down a shot while she unstraps some of the heavier plates for her armor. He shoots her a worried glance.

"I've never seen you so exhausted," he says, and she shrugs in response.

"Been a lot going on," she lies, thanking Belle for the tall glass of whiskey sent her way.

She's actually been hiding out in her home in Megaton, drowning in self-pity and loneliness. Charon stays posted outside almost 24/7, scaring visitors away. Sometimes they leave gift baskets. She doesn't like that.

"Yes, I have no doubt about that,"

"No reason to worry, Chief."

Silence. Harkness downs another shot and stares off at the wall of the bar behind Belle. He's processing something.

Juliet takes the opportunity to throw her glance around – it's second nature to her. She almost sees the scope of her rifle in front of her eyes as she takes in the crowd. No threats, as usual, just the usual customers.

Her eyes drift over Tammy Hargrave in one corner, and her trigger-finger suddenly twitches. She's overheard rumors that she abuses her son, and Juliet wouldn't put it past her. The woman's temper and attitude are terrible. In her opinion, Tammy's head is just begging to be blown off by a sniper in the middle of the night – rumors or not. Harkness notices her fidgeting and rolls his shoulder into hers.

"Calm down, Jules. What's got you all worked up, anyway?"

"Is she drinking water, Hark?"

A pause.

"Pretty sure. As far as I know, she's been sober for a few weeks now."

"Surprising," Juliet replies, in no mood for conversation about drunks she despises. Harnkess shrugs, and lifts his glass of whiskey up again. Juliet motions for Belle to cut off his supply, but the android catches her and laughs for the bartender not to bother.

"Wanna see something even more shocking than a sober Tammy Hargrave?" he asks, obviously trying to divert the Lone Wanderer's attention from his drinking. She shoots him a glare, but shrugs her acceptance. If Juliet was a different person, oh _fuck,_ would she be taking advantage of his situation. Harkness is leaning against her side, and it would be so very rewarding to sling her arm over his shoulder and lead him to her room in the Weatherly.

The chief of security takes another swig of whiskey, this time from the bottle. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, towards the darkest corner of the Rudder.A male figure rests an elbow on the table in front of him, blowing smoke out of the cigarette in his other hand. His chair is tipped back lazily, and the rusted legs look like they're going to snap at any moment.

"When'd he get here, Hark?" Juliet inquires.

"Few days ago. He asked Belle to put a cot in one of the supply closets. Said he was used to sleeping in confined spaces, or something."

"Really? Interesting. So, what's the deal? Is he causing trouble?"

"Nothing I've seen. Just sits there twenty-four-seven, drinking and snapping that switchblade of his back and forth."

Juliet's lips pull into a frown, and she twists at the hips to stare at the man again.

The stranger is doing exactly as Harkness describes; the switchblade presses against his thumb, and he jerks the muscles in his wrist. The blade snaps back towards the holster, and it makes a distinct snk sound as it pops out from the wooden guard again. She watches him for a few seconds, transfixed on the blade.

"He's got the potential to _be_ trouble, Jules." Harkness admits, and leans against the counter to ask Belle for another drink. The bartender refuses, and he scowls. Juliet isn't sure whether androids can really get drunk, or past human nature is forcing the reaction on Harkness. Either way, he's in no position to question the odd newcomer, so she stands and makes her way over to his booth.

"Hey," she begins, immediately regretting the syllable. A guard would speak with much more authority.

There's no light in this corner of the Rudder, but she can still make out the flashes of steel as he flicks the switchblade, and she notes his oddly perfect teeth when he flashes a grin across the bar to Cherry.

Juliet's frown falls into a deep, threatening grimace as she realizes she's being ignored.

She slams both hands on the tabletop, rocking forward on her palms until he has no choice to look up at her face. Maybe she's being too harsh on the guy, but if Harkness is wary about him, there's got to be something going on. She can barely make out the shape of his head as he lifts it up to look at her, and she wants to gut him for staring at her chest for too long. He leans back slowly, setting his elbow on the table behind him as his legs cross with finality. The perfect white teeth make an appearance again when he gives Juliet a wolfish grin.

"If you wanna get closet to me, that's all you gotta say, girl," he drawls.

She recognizes the voice immediately. Only one person in the entire Wastes can have such an annoying voice, and be so sexy at the same time. Reaching down to her Pip-Boy, she flicks a dial and the green light washes over both of them.

Juliet lets out a boisterous, unladylike snort as she stares at the familiar pompadour, contemplating her next move. The shock on his face is obvious, and they stare at each other.

"You little shit, DeLoria," the Lone Wanderer says, and shakes her head at him.

"Same to you, sweet cheeks," he replies, nonchalantly lifting his drink again. She raises her eyebrow, watching him swing the cigarette from side to side, across his lips. This is not the immature, asshole of a teenager she remembers, or even the arrogant and independent twenty-year-old she helped escape from the Vault months ago.

"The fuck are you doing out here, Butch?" Juliet questions, sliding her body into the seat opposite the Tunnel Snake, and leaning her back against the tearing cushion. "Last time I saw you was…I don't remember."

Butch shrugs, and regards her for almost a full minute.

"Goddammit, why are you so quiet all of a sudden?" she demands, and this time his lips quirk up in a smirk. At least she's getting a reaction.

"I owe you a drink for gettin' me out of that shit hole, nosebleed," Butch slides his dirty flask across the table to her, and she makes a face. He laughs while she takes a swig to please him, and then snaps her fingers in his face. The drink burns as it slides down her throat, and she coughs lightly.

"Ain't every day I get to make a daring escape from a metal fucking death trap."

"Why are you out here, anyway?" Juliet asks again, trying to stress the question without sounding like a nag.

"In Rivet City, or this god fuckin' forsaken bar?"

"Both."

"In the city 'cuz I can't afford anywhere else," he explains, turning out the pockets of his jeans, and showing her about a dozen caps.

Juliet vaguely notices the thin white t-shirt he wears under a Pre-War leather jacket. Butch looks much different without a Tunnel Snakes uniform on. She wonders if he's lost it for a moment, until she remembers he gave it to her the day her father left, and she saved his no-good alcoholic of a mother from Radroaches. A light blush tinges her cheeks when she realizes the worn jacket has never left the bottom of her knapsack.

"And I'm in the Rudder, 'cuz, apparently, drinkin' runs in the family," he raises his whiskey glass in a mock toast, and Juliet winces.

"How's your mom, by the way?"

"Dead."

Fuck. She winces again, and he just shrugs.

"What happened?"

"Amata cut off all the drugs n'alcohol from us after you left. She got real sick after a while, dunno."

There's a moment of awkward silence. Juliet is desperate to break it, so she rags on Amata.

"After she threw my ass out, you mean." He chuckles. "You weren't there to hear her say that, were you? 'Hey, Jules. Thanks for saving our lives from my goddamn crazy father, but…get the hell out now. Okay, thanks.'"

Juliet snatches the flask from his hand as he tips it back, and takes a swig, much to his surprise. Butch watches her drain some of the drink, tilting his head slightly.

"She's changed a lot, Juliet. Startin' to think having power like that gets to the brain, ya know?"

"Yeah," she says thoughtfully, and suddenly remembers Harkness. "Fuck."

"What?"

"You haven't been causing any trouble, have you?" A wide, suggestive grin.

"Other than ravishin' daughters and being a total motherfucking Tunnel Snake, naw."

She rolls her eyes, reminiscing back to their teenage days, back to the days of G.O.A.T.s, cake destroying robots, and fist fights over sweetrolls.

Butch, other than looking like the Wasteland chewed him up and spit him out, hasn't changed a bit. He's still obnoxious and lewd, and from the state of his clothes and scratches on his face, Juliet wonders if he's had a run in with raiders. She believes the smooth-talking man in front of her when he begins retelling recent adventures of mischief and trouble.

He's lost a bit of weight since he left the Vault, but there are tell-tale signs of lean, strong muscles under the tautness of his t-shirt. Butch can obviously fend for himself out in the Wasteland, but she's surprised he hasn't been picked apart by Radscorpions considering his only weapon is a switchblade. The Tunnel Snake catches her staring, and stops scratching his head with said weapon. Butch drops his arms and holds them out, grinning as he tilts his head from side to side.

"Yeah, get a good long look, nosebleed. Nobody can resist the Butch-man, baby," Juliet flicks him the bird, but does nothing to hide her amused grin.

They sit in silence for a while longer, Butch having replaced the cigarette with a toothpick, and chewing at the end. Juliet watches him, before Harkness gets up from his seat and heads over in their direction, stumbling slightly as he goes.

"Jules, everything all right?" Juliet is immediately embarrassed by his slurred speech and the protective hand on her shoulder. She claps her palm to her forehead, pinching the bridge of her nose as she slides her hand down. Butch is looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, Hark. He's no trouble, trust me. A fucking annoyance," despite her better judgement, Juliet throws Butch a 'we've got an inside joke' wink, "but he's not dangerous."

Harkness nods in finality, and Juliet stands up. He's in no shape to climb the flights of stairs all the way to the security quarters, so she gives Butch a nod before slinging Harkness's arm over her shoulder, and wrapping her hand around his torso. Butch stands up as Juliet leads the drunken chief a few steps, and follows them out the door. The Lone Wanderer throws a glance back at her old friend, who stands in the doorway. She isn't sure if it's the whiskey, but he looks a bit like a lost puppy. She sighs after a moment, and lets Harkness prop himself up on the riveted wall while she turns to speak to Butch.

"Look…I'm in town for a few more days, so-"

Butch grins, leaning towards her. If she wasn't slightly tipsy, he'd be on his ass for making a move. "Not that easy, nosebleed," he mutters, and Juliet shakes her head.

"Oh, yes you are. Anyway, if you're here when I leave…" Her conscience is telling her to weigh her next words, and the consequences, but her liquid courage ignores it.

"You still interested in starting that gang up again, Butch?"

His eyes widen, and he belts out a huge laugh. Her Pip-Boy says two in the morning, but he suddenly looks like he has reserves of energy to last him days.

"Fuck yeah, Juliet! You sayin' the Tunnel Snakes could ride again?" Her smirk is obvious, and he rolls his eyes.

"Or, y'know, slither. Whatever. Pervert."


	2. Chapter Two

a/n: So, um, lots of roadblocks for me to come to this chapter. But here, I'll shut the fuck up so you can enjoy ;D.

* * *

><p>Juliet pinches the bridge of her nose, warding off what will certainly become a hell of a terrible hangover. She's also trying to subdue her impatience. Dogmeat shares a quick look with her, and she swears that his big golden eyes give her a sassy 'I told you so'. The big mutt swivels his head over his left shoulder, and she follows his gaze.<p>

"Come on, nosebleed. Fuckin' backpack is killing me here," Butch grovels, and adjusts his shoulders under the pack's weight. Juliet crosses her arms, and Dogmeat mimics her attitude by sitting back on his haunches, regarding his owner's tall traveling companion coldly.

"Butch, man the hell up. You're only carrying food and ammo," she protests, marching over to help him fix the straps of the pack, which have twisted around into his jacket. The Tunnel Snake straightens up, and watches her stride over. Dogmeat growls when he tries to sneak a peek down the folds of her shirt, and Butch engages the mangy German Shepard in a defiant staring contest

When Juliet steps back, Butch pulls his face into a tight pout, and throws his pack onto the ground. When she starts to protest, he leans over and starts taking items out, one by one.

"The fuck, DeLoria?" she demands, and squats down next to him, putting a few .44 rounds and boxes of apples back in again. Butch reaches out a palm and shoves her playfully on the shoulder, sending her balance backwards and forcing her to land on her ass. She looks over at Dogmeat for help, but the mutt is just wagging his tail at the Tunnel Snake. If he could laugh, she knew he would be.

"Traitor!" she hisses, and Butch chuckles. He plops down next to her, looking up at the dark, irradiated sky.

"Stoppin' for the night, nosebleed? We got a lot of walkin' to do, ya know,"

Juliet sneers at him, sticking her tongue out like a child. She can't help it. They really shouldn't be stopping in the middle of the Wastes, but there are a few rocky outcroppings that can provide at least some shelter.

Twenty minutes later, Juliet has a campfire going under one of the granite formations, Dogmeat is basking in the warm orange glow, and Butch is reclining on his bedroll, arms behind his head and legs crossed. He's got his eyes focused above on the cloudy night. Juliet notices he stares at the sky often.

Over the past few weeks, she's also noticed his general nervousness when outdoors and there's no way she's oblivious to the quiet remarks he sometimes makes about how big the Wasteland is.

"Man, that creeps me out," he mutters, and it's obvious that he thinks it's hushed enough that she won't hear.

"What?"

Butch jumps slightly, but then immediately regains his cool. Juliet follows his gaze back up, staring at the heavy clouds blocking their view of the stars and moon.

He lifts his hand up, gesticulating widely above him. "Y'know, the sky."

She raises an eyebrow, and looks at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean? You knew what the sky was before you left the vault, didn't you?"

When he doesn't answer right away, Juliet grins and gives him a childish poke in the face. "Oh right. I forgot you were a straight D student, Butchy," she teases, and Butch raises his fist mockingly, shaking it at her.

"Don't you forget who's in charge around here, nosebleed," he grumbles. They both hearma loud, pissed off bark, and look in the direction of Dogmeat.

He's staring at them with an otherworldly wisdom, like that of a parent who has lost patience, but his pink tongue is hanging comically from the side of his mouth, dripping drool onto the ground.

Juliet holds onto her side as she rolls in the dust laughing, and Butch's hand is splayed across his face, abdomen heaving with deep laughter.

Later, when Dogmeat is asleep across Juliet's legs, Butch shuffles over to her side of the camp. The red-headed woman looks up from her Special Ops Training Manual, and tries not to admire how good he looks with the campfire's light flickering across his face in the dark.

"What?" she asks, breaking the silence.

"Look, Juliet. I'm new to this whole fucking Wasteland thing, and I ain't jokin' about that pack being too heavy."

She stares at him for a moment longer, and then sighs. Butch has been a prideful, arrogant prick from day one, and she supposes admitting he's having trouble is difficult.

Startling Dogmeat when she throws off her sleeping bag's covers, Juliet jumps up into the cold night air and crosses her arms at him. He grins and strides confidently over to their knapsacks, tucked away behind the rocks so their supplies will stay dry if it rains.

He knows she wouldn't deny him help, and she knows it's going to cost her later.

At her request, they lug the packs back over to the warm campfire. The thin cotton shorts she scavenged for herself to sleep in do little to protect her legs from the chilly breezes, and Juliet tucks them under while they sit down in front of the fire.

The not-so-Lone Wanderer and her companion empty their packs, and begin trading necessities. When Butch continues claiming lighter and lighter items, Juliet grabs his arm and switches his PipBoy to his body's Status screen. After a moment, she rolls her eyes and throws his arm down, scowling. "You've got a base Strength of a seven," she complains, shoving a few boxes of Dandy Boy apples into her pack. "Why are you making me carry all the heavy shit?"

Butch raises an eyebrow and clamps his hand around her wrist, pulling it towards him so he can read her PipBoy. Juliet worries for a moment that some predator or Raider will see the lights from a distance, but quickly takes solace in his close proximity and warm hand. _And, uh, Dogmeat too,_ she forces herself to think.

Butch breaks into raucous, obnoxious laughter and drops her arm.

"You only a five? How the hell do you use that big ass rifle, ya weakshit?" Juliet punches him hard in the gut, and he snorts a fast _nevermind._

"Here, you carry my extra guns, if you're going to carry all that light equipment," she demands. Butch groans.

Even if he's complaining, the low sound still makes her spine tingle.

She shoves Blackhawk at him a little too forcibly, and he grunts when the barrel hits him in the ribcage. He makes small talk as best he can, but Juliet's face starts heating up as they chat. She tries rooting around her pack, attempting to focus her mind on something other than his sexy, carefree voice. Eventually she lifts the torn, red pack above her head and lets everything fall onto their knees, hoping the clattering will clear her head.

Butch immediately picks up the teddy bear that tumbles close to the fire, and holds it up in front of his face.

"The fuck is this, nosebleed? You still need a poor wittle tedwy bear to get to sleep?" he teases, and she elbows him in the side, pulling out an almost-empty bottle of absinthe from beneath Fancy Lads and empty boxes of ammo.

"No," she lies.

Butch holds out the bear above the fire, and she squeals angrily. He leaps to his feet and dances away from her grabbing hands, forcing her to chase after him.

"You motherfucking asshole!" she yells, grinning but trying to remain stoic. "You're so fucking immature, you little shit. Give it back!"

Butch suddenly swivels in a circle, and starts running back towards her with the bear tucked under his arm. She can't stop her momentum fast enough.

She throws her hands up to catch herself in case he darts out of the way, and grabs the collar of Butch's leather jacket, refusing to lose her dignity alone.

They both flop to the ground, Butch flying on top of her ungracefully.

Juliet brings her knee up to get him off, but he simply props himself up with on hand, still holding the bear in front of his face with the other. Her attempts at ignoring the way their legs are tangled prove useless, and she stares up at the bear's smiling face, breathing hard and giving up.

"Teddy thinks Juliet should let Butch fuck'er."

Juliet huffs, shoving the bear's head into Butch's nose. It buys her enough time to squirm out from under his weight. She scoots over to their packs again.

"Juliet thinks she should've let Teddy burn in bear-hell," she mutters, and Butch chuckles darkly as he sidles up next to her. She doesn't push him away, despite herself. To be honest, she enjoys the added warmth.

Once they stop taunting each other, Juliet goes back to sorting their knapsacks, trying to distribute the weight evenly. She can barely stand his motherfucking complaining, but she doesn't want to be stuck with all the heavy equipment.

Juliet finishes shoving a handful of decent-condition Chinese pistols into the last few pockets of her pack, reminding herself to sell them later. She hears a rustle of clothes and a few falling cans of dried food. Butch's voice suddenly falls silent, so she glances up.

"Whassi-?" she begins tiredly, but when she spots what he's holding onto, her face drains of color – only to wildly heat up again.

Her old Tunnel Snakes jacket is hanging from his hands. The logo ironed onto the back seems to dance and slither in her sleepy gaze.

"Ya kept this ratty thing?" he asks, staring at her across the fire in utter shock. Instead of looking intelligent and shrugging, or attempting to explain the situation rationally, Juliet just blinks at him in embarrassment.

"Yes?"

"Serious. Fucking why?" he questions, and she continues staring. She debates appropriate answers in her mind for a moment, before ruling out "_it smells like you"_ and "_let's bone please"_.

"Because Tunnel Snakes rule?"

It's more of a question than a response, but it obviously pleases him.

Juliet is suddenly thrown on her bedroll, Butch hovering above her. He's grinning like the crazy Jet addicts in the Bethesda ruins, but damn her if she doesn't find it unbearably sexy.

She blinks a few times, dazed from being jostled around, and still rather sleepy. His face is close enough that their foreheads should be knocking together, their lips should be brushing, and she wants to demand why neither of those things is currently happening.

Her knees are bent up slightly, and if she was any closer they'd be wrapped around the back of his thighs. One of Butch's knees is between her legs, and the other rests near the outside of her thigh, trapping her legs beneath him.

Juliet turns her eyes to the left and then to the right, scowling when she realizes his arms have caged around her head, keeping her from escaping. They're situated close to her jaw, almost framing her face, and he leans his weight on one arm to brush a few strands of auburn hair from her mouth. She attempts to give herself a decent scolding when her breath hitches.

"Lookin' pretty good, nosebleed," the phrase is whispered into her ear, and Juliet decides it would be much easier to deny him the sexual advances if he was as clumsy and unattractive as he was obnoxious.

Fortunately, that's not the case with Butch.

"Fuck you, DeLoria," she snaps good-naturedly, and twists her hips to break free. Butch quickly pins her with his weight, flopping himself down on his palms. It knocks the air out of her, and she glares up at the Tunnel Snake, breathless.

He's laughing hysterically, and she realizes it's a cheap, childish 'wrestling' move, meant to pin her down and annoy.

"You…fucking…bastard," she wheezes, somehow freeing her hands from under him and shoving at his shoulders desperately. He only cackles louder, but then finally shifts himself upward again so she can take a deep breath.

When Juliet regulates her breathing again, Butch is staring down at her with those fucking heavy lidded sea-green eyes she remembers from their childhood. Even though _his_ ribs weren't the ones being crushed, Butch's breath is equally shaky, and she closes her eyes.

The image of his too-close face and heavy breath on her cheek fuels her imagination with a much different scenario. Butch suddenly blows a disgusting, wet raspberry on her neck, and her eyes snap open in a deathly glare. He's going to fucking get it.

Juliet gives him a slow, steady smile, relying on her black widow prowess, and he blinks in surprise. It doesn't take him long to 'catch on', though, and when he does, he returns the grin.

"No broad can deny a Tunnel Snake's seducin'skills," Butch crows obnoxiously, and the Lone Wanderer rolls her eyes.

Quickly, she runs her idle hands up to his biceps, gripping them for a moment before slipping them over his shoulders. He shivers, and she tries to not to laugh.

She begins threading her fingers behind his neck, smirking. She slides them into his carefully sculpted locks, but he figures out what she's planning before she can continue.

"Don't fuckin' toy with the hai-"

"Too late!" she shrieks.

Juliet grabs him by the roots when he tries to jerk away, effectively dragging him closer so she can continue to mess with his hair. Her hands come away greased with whatever disgusting Pre-War product he's managed to find, but seeing Butch's hair fly out in a hundred different spiky directions is worth it.

Juliet is thrown back when Butch flies away from her, complaining and cursing.

The Lone Wanderer collapses into a fit of giggles, and Dogmeat barks at her for waking him. She scratches him behind the left ear, and soon everything is forgiven. Juliet wishes bartering with caravans or convincing people in the Wasteland is as easy as scratching them behind their ear.

Dogmeat shoves himself ungracefully against her side, and she wraps her arms around the German Shepard's neck affectionately, burying her face into his fur. Even if he's most likely flea-bitten and certainly dirty, his fur is comforting and warm in the night air.

It also serves as a great muffler for her obnoxiously loud chuckles.

Butch is stalking around the perimeter of the camp, flicking a brush with only a few bristles through his hair. Juliet watches him, combing her fingers into Dogmeat's fur and sniffing from the cold every few seconds. She counts the minutes on her PipBoy, and when it's just about to reach ten, Butch stomps over, still grumbling.

His hair is a mess, and there's not nearly as much gel in it as there usually is. For the first time, she notices how curly it would be without any of the product.

Juliet's eyes follow her companion as he marches around the campfire, scooping up her teddy bear and throwing it at her as he passes. Dogmeat catches it gently in his mouth and drops it into her lap as Butch plops moodily onto his bedroll.

"Fuckin' pipsqueak. Imma give you another nosebleed one of these days, ya bitch," he grumbles into the dirty blue pillow. Juliet snickers. They're silent for another few moments before Butch abruptly rolls onto his side, props up his head with his hand, and stares at her. She blinks in shock under his sudden sly, piercing gaze.

"What?" she mutters, trying to avoid eye contact. She's pissed at the effect he has on her.

"How many people you slept with out here, nosebleed?" he wonders, sounding all too innocently curious for his own good. Although it's not in her nature to flush on the topic of sex, she does.

"You're generally not supposed to pry into a lady's personal business," Juliet mocks, and Butch grins at her across the few inches of empty dirt between them.

"You ain't a lady, Jules," he scoffs. She has to agree. Her actions thus far have been anything but ladylike. Stomping on a raider's face to make sure he was as good as dead, jabbing her finger at Flak and cursing at him for better prices on ammunition…

"Fair enough." Juliet smirks, and tips her head back, ignoring Butch's taunting and pleas in favor of some sleep.

The radiated clouds are being blown away by the night's wind, but the air is still tinted green.


	3. Chapter Three

Butch leaps over the fallen mass of concrete and ducks as bullets rain down on the space his body was just occupying. To his left, pressing her back against their makeshift shield, Juliet is reloading her Xuanlong Rifle, with Dogmeat close to her side. The canine tilts his head, settling onto his front paws into an eerily intimidating stance – it's almost as if he's waiting for orders. Juliet waves her hand at the over-eager dog, and he sits down moodily.

"Oh, fuck you, mutt. Got a few good chunks out of that one bitch, didn't you?" Juliet laughs. Dogmeat's mood seems to perk up, and he barks cheerily in response.

"He looks fucking creepy like that, Jules!" She glances at Butch, who is staring Dogmeat down with a ridiculously paranoid expression. "Fucking mouth all caked in blood and shit," he mutters, and the Lone Wanderer laughs at his expense before winking at Dogmeat. Her rifle swallows up a new round of ammo with a loud click, and she shifts into a squatting position, rotating on her heels.

"How the hell do you stay so fucking calm in situations like this, nosebleed?" Butch asks curiously, doing little to hide the childish admiration in his tone. She laughs, gives the Tunnel Snake a shrug, and leaps around the barrier towards the approaching Raiders. Three of them stop in their tracks and aim their worn-down pistols at Juliet with shaking hands – probably high by Jet and Psycho. As an answer to their threat, she sticks out her hand and whistles shrilly.

Dogmeat is much faster than the Raider he targets, one who is wielding a dented, metal baseball bat. The woman goes down with a cry as the canine rips into one of her Achilles tendons and her dirty green Mohawk somehow slams into the dirt as she goes down. Butch finishes her off with a bullet through the neck, ending her pathetic thrashing. He jogs past the body, following Dogmeat's lead as the battle-ready mutt takes down another Raider by brute force alone.

Meanwhile, Juliet ends one of the other Raiders with a few well-aimed rounds to the chest, moving airily and dodging another's downward swing with a pool cue. She swiftly ducks, rolling her shoulder to one side and trying to shift her weight away from the next swing.

Though it catches her on the shoulder, the red-head barely winces thanks to the tough leather of the Tunnel Snakes jacket she's wearing. With a wild smirk of blood-lust, the woman levels her rifle to the surprised man's doped-up face.

A few yards away, Butch and Dogmeat work in tandem to take down another Raider. Butch fires a few 10 mm rounds into the druggie's shoulder, forcing the man to drop his heavy lead pipe. Dogmeat ends him off by jumping up at his throat, the sharp canines of his jaws producing a tear that won't be repaired.

The man drops to the ground as Juliet pumps a triple round into the Raider in front of her. Even with his head handing at a lopsided angle, the poor bastard manages a keening scream before his vocal cords fail and drops to his knees.

Butch slinks over to her, reloading his pistol and carefully surveying the green-tinged landscape as she fishes through the Raider's pockets. She brushes a decaying hand that's clipped to the sadist's belt.

"Ew, shit." Butch complains a bit squeamishly, watching her work. "That is one fucked-in-the-head-Raider, Juliet," he grimaces, and kicks the guy's leg. The curly-haired woman below him shrugs and raises her hand behind her without looking at him. Butch reaches down to take a few stimpaks from her palm, along with a half-empty inhaler of Jet.

"You okay?"

She turns around and stares up at him, raising a dark eyebrow. Her face is splattered with blood and fleshy bits from the Raiders, but a genuine happy-to-be-alive grin is plastered on her mouth. Butch vaguely wonders if it's wrong to be turned on by the grisly sight in front of him, but the notion is forgotten when she gives him a warm, haphazard laugh.

"Trying to shelter me from the horrors of the Wastes, Butch-man?" she taunts and he swears that the low, throbbing growl that Dogmeat makes is a snicker.

"Naw, just…" he doesn't want to say yes and seem weak in front of this world-weary badass. Juliet smirks, taking his silence to mean he's at a loss for words.

"Look through that one's pockets, would you? Make yourself useful for once," she quips, and he almost wants to defy her because it sounds like a command. "Bossy bitch," he grumbles.

Instead of disobeying he waltzes over to the woman's body, which lies face-first on the ground, and flips her over. When Juliet finishes shifting through her Raider's pockets and Dogmeat begins his search through their make-shift camp for ammo, she moves over to Butch. He's still crouched over the female, staring down at her face, completely still.

"Fucking ghouls," he finally mutters, and peels away the motorcycle helmet from her head. Some of the woman's skin comes up with it, and dry ghoul scalp falls onto the denim jeans he wears. Juliet chuckles at the horrified face he makes, kneeling down to help him scavenge the body.

She's feeling rather merciful today.

"Scared of ghouls?"

"Fuck no. I'm a Tunnel Snake. Tunnel Snakes ain't scared of shit!"

"Except Super Mutants."

"Well, yeah, but who isn't scared of th-"

"And Radroaches."

A pout.

"Okay, Jules, I get it. Bitch."

She smiles again and snatches a few bottles of Buffout from the khaki-brown cargo trousers that the ghoul wears. After a moment of appraising the pants, she unbuckles them and slips them off of the Raider's hips. They're blood-stained, muddy, and smell like ghoul, but they're about as fashionable as clothing gets in the Wastes, and Juliet wants them.

Butch stares at her in slight disgust as she throws them over her shoulder.

"What?" she demands, looking him over defiantly.

"Never gonna be able to stare at your ass in those, nosebleed," he mutters, and Juliet fights back an embarrassingly sudden blush.

Instead, she gives him a firm slap on the back of the head and shifts backwards, using the strength in her heels and calves to stand. Dogmeat trots over with a box of .308 rounds in his jowls, and Juliet scratches him behind the ear in thanks. She tucks the cardboard box under her arm and struts back to the concrete formation they had used as a shield just moments before.

Once everything is loaded into their packs, Juliet takes a peek at the dark, cloudy sky. The recently dreary weather has been getting her down and has forced her to scavenge even more bottles of watered down whiskey so she can get a break from the depressing wastes. In the distance, over the looping office buildings of the downtown area, she hears a roll of thunder.

Butch sulks over to her, plopping down with a sigh. He's obviously disappointed at the lack of hair products that the Raiders had on them, and Juliet isn't sure how much begging she can put up with before she lets him go survey the grocery store the Raiders poured out from.

"Fine, fine!" she snaps as her opens his mouth to complain. Zero. Her tolerance level is zero at the moment.

"Score!"

After Juliet finishes bandaging a few scrapes Dogmeat collected during the fight, the trio marches up to the doors of the supermarket. The glass in the frames is beyond layered with dirt and it looks as if the Raiders have boarded the windows and entrance.

"Well, fuck. We can't just strut right in."

Juliet snorts at him, turning slightly and crossing her arms.

"You thought it was just going to be unlocked?"

"No, I-"

"Like they were gonna be all 'hey, we're fucking murderous Raiders, this is our awesome as shit pad!'?" Juliet drops her voice and sticks her chest out, mimicking the stance and attitude of a Raider accurately. Butch raises an eyebrow and tries to keep from snorting.

"Pfft. Fuck no, I'm not stu-"

She starts strutting in a circle. "Come right the fuck in! We were about to skin this sorry fucker alive and eat him for breakfast. With nails! We're touch as fuck!"

Butch is hysterical now, doubled over with a fist on the door. Juliet continues to puff her cheeks out and walk around, tripping stiffly to mimic a high Raider. Butch thinks she's starting to look like a chicken with a stick up its ass.

He grabs her arm in an effort to stop her, and she looks up at him in slight annoyance.

"What's with you, shitface? Ain't never seen a badass Raider before?" she drawls, but is cut off mid-lecture when Butch leans down, grinning slyly.

"Shouldn't we be focusin' on the mission, Jules?" he asks, and Juliet can feel his breath hot on her cheek as he gets closer. She snaps out of her hilariously good mood and steps back in an effort to put space between them. Dogmeat glances up as she clears her throat, losing the staring contest he'd started with a giant rat pacing in the distance. He looks between her and Butch in slight confusion.

"You're uh, completely right. Let's do this," she says nervously, slinging the Xuanlong over her shoulder and aiming the weapon in front of her. Juliet starts moving around the corner of the building, and Butch follows. He shoves a hand in the pocket of his jeans, looking quite pleased with her reaction.

Around back, next to a few piles of tin cans and other debris sit two dumpsters. Butch watches as Juliet hoists herself up onto the sick orange lid, balancing first on her knees and then on her own two feet. She reaches a hand down to Butch, who jumps onto the dumpster after her. Dogmeat looks up at them and whines.

"S'okay, boy, we'll be right back."

The Tunnel Snake looks down at his feet, kicking away some peeling paint from the lid.

"The fuck are we goin', nosebleed? Gonna stand here all night?"

Juliet lands a hard punch to his gut, pissed with his teasing. Butch huffs out a breath of air and a low string of whining curses.

"No. Hold this and lift me up there," she demands, and points upwards near the small supermarket's roof. Above her is a grated ventilation shaft, and Butch marvels at her obvious plan.

"How many of these things have you broken into before, Jules?" he questions, but takes the rifle from her hands and gets down on his knees to help her.

Juliet grins, but he can't see the impish expression on her face.

"I've been slipping in and out of Raider infested shitholes for a long goddamn time, Butch-man," she brags.

"Watch your language, nosebleed," Butch muses, and cups his hands together so she can plant one of her feet in his palms. Slowly, he stands up, grunting as he uses his biceps to lift the red-head higher.

"Don't you insult me, you bastard," she snaps, briefly looking down at him through a curtain of auburn hair. "I'm not that heavy."

Butch balances himself as she plants her feet on his shoulders, and gooses her with his free hand in response.

Resisting the urge to kick him in the face, Juliet grabs a screwdriver from one of her belt's pockets. Instead of unscrewing the fastenings on the grating, the Lone Wanderer starts bashing the corners of the metal covering…violently.

"Child of two brilliant scientists my fucking _ass_," she hears from below her.

"Shut the fuck up," Juliet says, announcing her success by flinging the cover of the shaft behind her. Dogmeat growls angrily and jumps out of the way as it bounces next to him. As Juliet kicks off from his shoulders, her feet leave marks on Butch's black leather jacket. He brushes it off with a grumble, watching as she tries to wriggle herself upwards. He stares her ass in interest, considering it's the only interesting thing _to_ look at, before she makes it into the narrow passage.

Once inside, Juliet flicks on her Pipboy light and crawls forward a few paces. The metal is a bit rickety and rusted from the radiation of the past two-hundred years, but sturdy and thick enough for them to crawl through. She maneuvers herself around and peeks her head out of the shaft.

"You going to need help getting up here, or what?" she demands of Butch. He simply flicks her off and throws his jacket over his shoulder at Dogmeat. The leather plops onto the canine's head, and the animal twists his neck in confusion, curious as to why night fell so quickly. Butch, meanwhile, leaps upwards and his hands deftly grab the edge of the ventilation shaft.

He's surprisingly athletic, so Juliet backs up to give him room as he uses the brick wall as a foothold and hoists himself up. He struggles slightly, but she's still amazed at his strength when his face appears at the entrance. She's definitely guilty of watching the impressive muscles in his biceps work and roll under his tan skin.

Juliet rolls her eyes at the obscenely sexual gesture he makes at her after catching her staring, and crawls into the small space.

"Impressed, nosebleed?" he asks suggestively.

They're facing each other in the metal crawlspace, so close that Juliet can't look away as he starts to move forward towards her, grinning.

"Fuck you," is what she eventually splutters, once again shifting herself so she's facing away from him. She starts crawling away, down a few turns and farther into the store's ventilation system. As Juliet looks down through the grating in the passage that leads into the store, she hears a low whistle from behind her.

"What? Be quiet, or the fucks down there might hear you, Butch." Juliet tosses a glare over her shoulder. The Tunnel Snake's blue-green eyes lazily drift up from her ass to her face, and his lips twist in a smirk. "Don't mind me, nosebleed," he says cheekily, "just enjoyin' the view."

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes, seventy-two rounds, and five cleverly placed frag mines later, Juliet is lifting the bottom of her tank top up to wipe blood and human flesh from her forehead. The last Raider had charged her in a fit of rage, seeing as how Butch offed many of his friends – and had stepped right onto one of the traps she set.<p>

One minute he was running towards her with a defiant, death-welcoming expression and the next the man's life had exploded into scarlet mist that splattered all over her. Butch decides he's fucked in the head for thinking that her victorious smirk is sexy, because she's literally soaked with matted flesh and blood.

He watches as she backs against a cracking wall of the grocery store, panting mildly, eyes fierce and wide with left-over adrenaline.

He's kind of annoyed how just looking at the bitch has heat pooling into his stomach, but plops down next to her with a couple of beers anyway. The manager's office of the store had an entire liquor cabinet stocked full with almost every sort of alcoholic beverage he could name.

Butch can tell she's still focused on the recent battle, so he nonchalantly picks up her hand and places the beer into it, closing her fingers around the glass bottle. Almost reflexively, she lifts it up to take a drink and promptly makes a face. "Fucking two-hundred year old booze," she curses, but takes another long sip. Butch laughs. He has a swig of his beer, and allows his head to fall back against the wall with a thump.

His knees are bent and he's leaning forward so that his forearms are resting crossed over his legs. They sit there in silence for a long while before Juliet flicks on her radio, tuning into a station she hasn't listened to in months. Anything to get her mind off of Butch's close proximity and amazingly smoking look he's giving her.

"-hree Dog, and it's time for some news…but not any news! _Celebrity_ news!" Juliet rolls her eyes, having heard enough about her adventures for a lifetime.

"And what celeb does the Wasteland have, other than the one, the only…Lone Wanderer?"

Butch takes another drink, and tilts his head to pay attention to the broadcast playing from his companion's wrist.

"A week ago, she was spotted leaving Rivet City with a pedestrian – a Wastelander, just like you listeners!"

Butch whoops, raising his beer above his head, and pumps his fist in the air.

"Tunnel Snakes fuckin' _represent. _Bitches ain't got shit on us!"

Juliet shushes her obnoxious friend by shoving her shoulder into his - a big mistake, because the bare skin of her arm slams against his bicep, and she feels like every inch of her has been set on fire. She scoots away awkwardly, but Butch follows her and slings an arm around her shoulders, still chugging from his bottle.

"-his is the first we've heard of from our Paradigm of Humanity, y'all. Don't blame her for ditchin' for so fuckin' long, though. Must be difficult giving up on someone who cared about you, hmm?"

Three Dog's words are obviously for her. She imagines the broadcaster staring at his microphone with a hellish glare. The hidden accusations are almost too much, and she feels nausea kick her in the gut. Juliet switches off her Pipboy quickly, and leaps to her feet. Butch's arm flops to the ground, and he pushes himself up.

He watches as she strides angrily up to the old check-out lane and deliver six or seven pissed punches to the cash resgister before her knuckles start bleeding. When she goes to land a final blow, he grabs her upper arm and holds onto it tightly while she thrashes around in anger, kicking and shouting until she's hoarse.

"I can't be their motherfucking superhero anymore!"

Butch desperately wants to come up with some piece of wise, reassuring advice to calm her down, but stays silent. He's never been good with words.


	4. Chapter Four

_a/n: AH. Sorry guys. Here you go. _

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><p><em>Though things may look very dark, your dream is not in vain. <em>

Juliet reaches down to her wrist, twists the volume knob of her Pipboy. She's rather fond of the crackling old stereo-sound that accompanies the listless tune, something that adds to the calming melody. Something she isn't fond of, however, are the incessantly bright rays of sun that beat down on her dirt-streaked face.

She groans a little, stretches her arms above her head, yawning tightly with a little constriction in her chest. Her fingers reach up towards the swamp-water green sky.

The Lone Wanderer sits on the edge of one of the many Pre-War highway medians dotting the Wasteland's landscape, structures that once connected the outskirts of D.C. with the main city. The concrete pathway sways dizzily every few seconds and perched high in the air, and the teetering, reinforced pillars that have seen better days.

One of her legs is dangling off the edge, precariously swinging back and forth to the music that vibrates against her wrist. Her head is dipping forward, resting warily on the knee that she's pulled up to her chest.

Juliet wraps an arm tight around the grainy denim clothing her legs. It's going to be one of _those _days, she can tell. Despite her balancing tipping forward with every pendulum movement of her leg, she feels uncharacteristically at ease.

After a few moments of barely comforting mediation, listening to the silence the end of her song has brought about, she glances up. From her vantage point on the towering framework high in the radiated air, it's like she can see all of the Wasteland.

She scans the surrounding landscape, trying not to stare in the direction of Raven Rock for too long. It brings up nasty feelings of guilt - despite doing a favor by eradicating the group - and causes her stomach to churn with remorseful and pangs of sorrow she'd rather not deal with first thing in the morning. She wipes her forehead, sticky with sweat, on the back of her hand, hissing at the warm weather.

Even so early in the day, when the sun is just beginning to peek from behind the mass of green tinged clouds in the horizon, heat rises up in waves from the ground.

The flowing, visible lines cast wavering paths of humidity around Juliet, distorting her vision further as she tries to get a good look at the mural of destruction painted before her. As she brushes her palm across the destroyed highway, she revels in the memory of her first few visions of the Wasteland, the "outside" world the citizens had been taught to fear.

It seemed like ages since she ran frightened out of her wits and sobbing from the tunneled entrance to the Vault. She almost wants to go back to the time that she was just a no-one in the Wastes. The days of solitary travel appealed to her despite the loneliness that had seeped into her bones the last couple of days.

A familiar, boiling rage builds up, catches her off guard as she recalls sitting in the grocery store with Butch, listening to Three Dog's tirade on her morals. Her fingers catch on a chunk of rock as she scrapes her hand across the asphalt. She picks it up and stares.

Suddenly, disgust and a sickening, stomach-churning anger well up in her chest as she stares at the chuck of asphalt, and she lifts her grey eyes back towards at the scenery.

Feelings of self-hatred and resentment wash over her in powerful waves, leaving her psyche teetering. There's nothing she can do to stop the bitter tears that sting the corners of her eyes. She clenches her teeth and bites the insides of her cheeks – a quick sensation of pain like that usually closes off any unwanted emotional assault.

She wrenches back her arm, torn-up and furious with herself and _life_ and being alone without being alone and the terrible food and Three Dog judging her despite her good deeds and her father being goddamn _dead_. The rock flies from her hand, seems to float air as it briskly cuts through the sky, finally splashing somewhere in the deep river below.

The previous night, heavy acidic rains shattered the drought the Wastes had been caught in. Juliet supposed it was a last-ditch effort of destruction from the two-hundred year old bombs that had exploded in the Earth's atmosphere all those years ago.

It was hard for her to imagine such a powerful weapon, one that could still have an effect on their world after two centuries. It had to have been something worse than a missile launcher – or even a Fat Man.

Now, thanks to the rains, a river, almost one hundred beneath her feet, flows through the arid landscape. The trembling waves churn at the dipped edges with a quiet strength, clearing out some loose debris and even a few Pre-War vehicles from the once-dry riverbed.

She watches the ripples from the lobbed stone until they disappear, merging peacefully with the rest of the small waves in the water.

A hand suddenly ghosts up her bare arm to her shoulder, joined seconds later by another. They abruptly ascend to her shoulders, fingers digging into her skin and shaking slightly. She freezes.

There is a quick, breaching white-hot flash of fear that barricades any other notion of thought in her mind. She opens her mouth in a silently horrified scream, thinking that her assailant has gotten past Dogmeat's steady and loyal guard outside of the trio's makeshift camp atop the highway. Was the mutt dead? Had he failed to protect the camp – had he died whimpering?

Another flicker of stark, reason-shredding terror, and she flinches.

Was _Butch_ dead, too?

Juliet's eyes go wide, instinct on full blast as she whirls around, ruthlessly clutching the forearm of her attacker. She squeezes as hard as she can, and manages to pull herself to unsteady feet. A series of moves drops the assailant, back thrown against the ground. Juliet sits on her attacker's midsection, fists wrenched back in anticipation of further violence. Her eyes focus slowly as the adrenaline subsides, and she blinks off the boiling red emotion with a series of short, breathy exhales.

"Owwwwwfuckwasthatforwoman?"

Her eyes flash, angry at him and slightly embarrassed for her reaction.

"Are you _trying_ to scare the living shit out of me?" Juliet demands, landing a hard jab to Butch's collarbone. His head snaps back, but she knows he's making a show to get some sympathy. He slips one arm up, shoving his palm against her shoulder. She's hurtled backward, away from the edge of the median, and lands unceremoniously on the ground.

Butch raises his hands, palms towards her in a display of surrender, stumbling to his feet. He's got that light, mischievous grin plastered on his tan face, the one that makes her stomach flutter - no matter how pissed or tired or depressed she is.

When he shrugs amiably, sauntering towards her arms outstretched and chuckling, Juliet knows she's going to lose this game - again. His jaw is bruised and purple, and she wants to wipe the expressing on his face away, but…there's certainly something to be said for pure charisma in men.

"Aww, come on, Jules," he coos, laughing louder when she turns her back stubbornly. The pout written across her face is meant to prevent him from trying anything else, but instead it makes her seem immature. It reminds her of the time she shoved cake in his face during his tenth birthday party; she's acting just as childishly.

"No, really. Don't," she mutters half-heartedly, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing the goose bumps from her forearms. If she made the rules – and if the Wasteland had any – that smooth baritone of his would be illegal.

"Mkay, whatever," he says after a slight pause, and she whirls around in shock.

"What?"

"I said 'okay, whatever'. Damn, we need to find you a pair a hearin' aids or somethin'?"

"No…you…what do you mean 'okay'?" she stammers, and he flippantly shrugs, unable to mask a tight, victorious smirk. He's bluffing, she realizes.

"You're not even going to apologize?"

"'Pologize for what?" Butch asks innocently, tilting his head. Dogmeat trots up behind him, annoyed at the argument that's building up. He's used to the pair's teasing banter, and the times that they've gotten violent the mutt has always managed to paw his way in, to pull them off each other.

He glances up at the Tunnel Snake with those wise gold eyes, and mimics the movement of Butch's head, leveling his silly questioning gaze at Juliet.

"Oh, fuck you," she finally sighs, unwilling to handle being ganged up on. She turns her back on her two travelling companions, effectively missing the successful fist-pump Butch throws into the air. Dogmeat yelps alongside him, barking and running circles around the man's legs.

Fifteen minutes later, when Juliet conducts her almost paranoid safety sweep of the camp for the second time, she finds them both dozing in the shade a pile of metal sheets has created. Butch's arms are flopped over Dogmeat's ribcage, and the dog looks both at ease and uncomfortable under the Tunnel Snake's weight.

She turns back to the sunrise after a moment, watches it part the post-rain clouds with a light smile on her face.

Butch meanders over late in the afternoon, and sits down next to the snoozing woman nonchalantly. "You fallin' asleep there, nosebleed?" he asks loudly, and although his tone is soothing and even, it edges her into the waking world somehow.

"No. No, Of course I'm not," she grumbles, jolting awake. Her legs still hang off the edge of the median, but she's lying back against the concrete, arms crossed over her chest. She rubs her cheek tiredly while he pulls out a pack of Fancy Lads.

A bead of sweat runs down the side of her face, trailing down towards her neck. She swipes at it impatiently. While the familiar, gusting wind at such a high altitude has returned, it's not a huge comfort when the blazing sun is directly above them. She hates noon.

Then, contradicting her denial, "How long was I out for?"

Butch's lips pull into a tight, no-teeth grin. "Dunno. Think I watch you sleep, or somethin'?"

She huffs at him, still too sluggish to argue. Settling for a half-hearted smack to the back of his gelled-up 'do, she jumps from her seated position, and retreats into the shade.

Dogmeat is still dead to the world, curled up under her Tunnel Snakes jacket. The sight, especially the mutt in all his innocently tired glory, manages to put her mind at ease. She gives him a scratch behind the ear and watches him kick in his sleep.

Juliet returns to Butch's side after picking up a Nuka from her pack, and tips it up to her lips as she takes a seat. She relishes the cold fluid as it falls into her throat, and thanks whatever deities there are for the refreshing cola. It's one of the few things that's able to keep her sanity in check, especially so with the current heat wave.

"You're lucky we walk as much as we do, or you'd be a fucking fatass," she says offhandedly, watching him pick a few of the moist pink crumbs from his lap and shove them into his mouth.

"Bitch," he cuts back, cheeks stuffed with food. She's strangely tempted to swipe her thumb across his lips to clean them, but by some miracle of will power, keeps her knuckles coiled around the top of her Nuka bottle.

"What were you thinkin' about earlier?" he wonders aloud, turning to her and swallowing thickly around his mouthful of fattening, centuries old dessert. "You were just…starin'." Quietly now, he mutters, "I thought you were gonna jump, nosebleed."

Juliet looks up, at first with a glint of sharp, angry frustration… until she sees the genuinely curious and worried expression written across his features. They've known each other their entire lives, despite the chronologically short gap of separation, and Butch isn't as dumb as he looks – she guesses the situation could have been mistaken for a suicide attempt.

She's tempted to lie. In the Wasteland, it's too easy to string along a sweet little fib, and she doesn't doubt someone so blind to _true_ human behavior would believe her. Butch has never been the most intelligent snake in the tunnel, God help her for making such a terrible pun.

Juliet didn't lie, though. "Shit, Butch. Lots of stuff…" she sighs, pushing back a few strands of hair, matted with sweat.

"Three Dog, you know? And…Project Purity. Have I ever told you about Pr-…" she stops, haltingly dropping her hand, the one she usually talks animatedly with. Revealing her father's life-long goal to Butch would require her telling him about…about everything. She's not ready to do that.

"Naw, Jules, you haven't."

She drops her head on her knees, tracing circles into the ground absent-mindedly. She's shut herself off, now, won't say anything, so Butch scowls impatiently. "Sure, fine. Whatever."

After a few moments of awkward, cold tension, Butch scoots closer and wraps an arm around her shoulders, toying with the scraggly ends of her hair. He gives her arm a little squeeze and attempts to pull her closer in his strangely comforting grip. She jumps, frankly startled with the gesture, and glares up at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Hair's getting' kinda long there, Jules…"

As soon as he trails off, she squirms to get away. "No. No_ fucking_ way, Butch. You are _not_ touching my goddamn hair." He grins, but doesn't release her.

Instead, the Tunnel Snake twines his fingers into the sensitive hairs at the base of her neck, and pulls back just enough to keep her sitting still. Juliet is suddenly conflicted. She wants to _groan_ at the positively addictive rush of endorphins his proximity and touch are giving her, but…she settles for jabbing him in the stomach.

"Ooof. Fuck, Juliet. Just once? Please? Come on, babe. Please?"

She freezes, and her fingers slowly uncoil from his wrists. She'd grabbed on in an effort to get him to let go, at the suddenly new, personal nickname, she can't help but comply.

There's a slight, flustered smile spreading across her lips. 'Nosebleed' has always been something ridiculous and immature between them, and this word is _so_ much different – implies so much more and makes her giddy like a hyperactive teenage girl.

_Something is wrong with me. Something is seriously fucked up, _she thinks, and sits there with her hands in her lap until Butch returns with a pair of sharp, shining scissors in his fingers.

He twirls them around his thumb and pointer, and she watches the glint of silver with open fascination.

Later, as she toys with the new, short strands of the clean bobbed style Butch cut her hair into, Juliet will pretend that she didn't lean into his back as he worked, will pretend that she didn't like him combing his fingers through her hair.

She pretends a lot of things, recently. Things that she shouldn't be thinking out in the Wastes, where no one is allowed to be happy, everyone dies early, and nowhere is safe. But somehow, for some reason, she lets the memory sink into her conscious. Far enough to keep it safe from her self-destructive and bitter denials.

_For when do you find the rainbow?  
>Only after rain.<em>


	5. Chapter Five

_a/n: HEY GUYS HEY. LOOK AT DAT M RATING. MMM. RATED M FOR MMMM, DELICIOUS SEXUAL TENSION. Enjoy!_

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><p>Sometimes the trio slept under the stars when the day's traveling was finished, after long hikes across the Wastes. Juliet would survey the area for the best campsite, Dogmeat would patrol the border while the two humans set up camp, and Butch would bitch about not relaxing in a clean, enclosed space.<p>

It was relaxing, sleeping on nothing but a bedroll. It made Juliet feel like she was at one with everything, that her day-to-day problems wouldn't be able to reach her. The dome of the sky was almost like a shield that protected her from worry and danger, and illuminates the night in a strangely comforting way, though the thick green radiation distorts the stars.

Sometimes Juliet decides she could die happy, lying under the cosmos. It would be under her breath, while Butch is asleep, when no one – not even the abandoned Wasteland - can hear the melancholy acknowledgment.

However, the quiet, calm peace can't stop the nightmares. She doesn't believe anything ever will.

Some nights she's in Evergreen Mills, watching the generator in front of the electric fence explode, knocking her almost fifteen feet away, and blasting off Jericho's left arm. Juliet can't wake herself up, can't fight, can't even _scream_ as the old man breathes his last only a few feet from her face, flattened like a Pre-War pancake under the heel of the Behemoth that had escaped.

She's forced to listen to his whimpering while she huddles under one of the train sections, waiting for the monster to lose her scent. She won't ever lose _that_ scent, though – the scent of burning Raiders, the scent of Jericho's blood seeping into the ground, soaking her elbow pads and knees and _skin_ crimson.

Other evenings she crouches in the drainage pipe, peeking up through the gap in the metal as Enclave Vertibirds descend from the sky and shake the world around her. She relives Tranquility Lane, watches a bullet from Mr. Burke's gun travel through Lucas Simms' head, and sees the mangled bodies of teenagers in Big Town being burned after a failure to protect the population.

Her nightmares. Her failures. One and the same.

But most nights, as she drifts off to sleep, the face of her father is her only nightmare. He stares at her with love and desperation; he slumps against the thick glass in the Rotunda, pleading for her to run. The scariest, most gut-wrenching part is …_ she does run. _She leaves her father behind, the only family she's ever had. Juliet leaves him, lying at the floor of the chamber, making awful gurgling sounds as he uselessly flounders for breathable, livable air. The only time she's only seen him as weak, the time he's dying.

Juliet wakes with a jolt, hugging herself and nearing hyperventilation. Her breaths are relatively soft, just shallow and shaky. She rocks back and forth for only a second before feeling a pair of steady hands grasp her shoulders, giving her a stern shake.

She's so startled that she lurches upright, muscles jumping and twitching in apprehension. Her pixie-styled hair flits around in a halo as she turns to investigate who exactly has grabbed her. In her sleep-addled mind, it could be anyone – a Raider, a slaver...

"Shhhh," Butch whispers, holding up a finger to his lips in his universal gesture of _shut the fuck up_. Juliet, even in all of her frightened post-nightmare stress, can't stop staring at how snugly Butch's t-shirt fits his torso. _Bow chicka wow wow._

"What?" she mouths, shrugging his arms away. Butch responds by pointing east of their camp, over her shoulder. Three figures trudge down one of the rocky hills, coming towards them slowly. She counts only three, but each looks well-armed, and the armor is unmistakable.

"Well, fuck our luck." she hisses.

"Looks like a bunch of T-Company pricks," he murmurs, and she jumps again because his voice is way too _close_ to her ear. She blushes because _fuck_ is he close, and she's only wearing her tank top and worn cotton panties.

Turning away to hide the awful blush on her skin, Juliet slips over to her stacked guns, grabbing her trusted sniper rifle. She lifts the heavy weapon over her shoulder and loads it with only four rounds, the fourth to be used just in case she misses. Which is unlikely.

She takes a few steps towards the approaching mercenaries, and Butch reaches out to grab her arm. She sends him an electrifying warning glare, and crouches in the dirt to position her rifle.

Specks of rock and pebble dig into her stomach as she squirms around, leveling the sturdy weapon towards the small group.

The crosshairs settles onto the forehead of the lead merc, who catches sight of her and raises his combat shogun in slow-motion. Juliet breathes in, trying to ignore the spray of bullets and rock fragments that fly towards her as they fire.

He runs _closer, closer, and closer_ still – until she can literally see the whites of his eyes. Juliet lets out her breath, a collected and steady motion that helps her focus. Her finger squeezes around the trigger, comfortably confident. She breathes in once more, a sharp intake of oxygen, and takes the shot.

The Talon bastard's grey matter splatters through the air. A clean head shot. Butch whistles, low and appreciative, before running back to his stuff and retrieving his sub-machine gun.

By the time the remaining bastards know what's happening, Juliet picks the second man off. His entire torso shocks backwards as the round tears through the area of muscle connecting the skin of his neck and his shoulder blade. The bullet continues, tugging the bone and tissue and skin, and even ripping a good chunk of his combat armor away.

The third man hesitates for only a moment before running at them with wild abandon. He lands a few shots near Juliet's position, knocking up plenty of dirt and rocks. One particularly large stone catches her in the face, striking her upper lip and splitting it. She can feel the skin crack open, dry from the Wasteland sun.

Butch steps forward suddenly, right in front of the barrel of her rifle. All she can see from this point is the bottoms of his jeans, the dirty soles of his feet. If she looks up just a little bit, she'll be able to stare at his a-

_Stop it._

"Are you stupid? I'm about to shoot this bast-"

Three rounds. One goes into the last merc's left shoulder. The next lodges itself in his upper right thigh, and the final zips clean through his midsection. Juliet marvels at the way the wounds bring him down, watching the poor idiot come to a slow flop just yards in front of them, and then rolling down the rest of the hill limply like a ragdoll.

She mimics Butch's earlier appreciative whistle, because why not, and slowly gets to her feet, hauling the sniper rifle up with her.

"Nice team work Jules," Butch slapping her high five before jogging off towards the bodies. She's glad he doesn't look back to see if she's following, because she is _definitely_ checking out his ass.

"Let's go see what they've got on them." he says excitedly. Juliet smirks. Butch has gone from crybaby scavenger, complaining about blood and germs, to happy vulture, picking the corpses of their enemies clean of any valuables. Sometimes she feels like throwing him breadcrumbs. Or body parts.

She crouches beside him at the closest body, the corpse of the man who rolled down the hill. She helps remove the heavy combat armor, and then rifles through his pockets. Butch pulls a piece of paper from the leader's pocket, and reads it.

"Juliet Hawkins, Mixed, female. Butch DeLoria, Caucasian, male. The bounty is 1500 caps for both. Good hunting!" Butch reads aloud. He quirks his eyebrow at her.

"What does 'mixed' mean?"

Juliet opens her palms and gestures to herself abruptly, light brown skin and curly hair. "You're fucking with me, Butch. Are you really that empty-headed? You haven't even _noticed?_" she teases, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose mockingly, trying not to laugh at his disgruntled and cheeky expression.

She holds up a finger, runs over to her pack, and retrieves the picture of her parents. She'd swiped it from her father's small work area, deep in the Monument's basement, along with five or six holotapes. Juliet runs her thumb over the cracked frame, bittersweet with emotion before handing it to her friend.

"Wow, look. Your old man ain't an old man. Is that your ma?" Juliet nods, slightly wistful. Butch glances back at the picture, and then gives it to her.

"Yeah. Anyway, mixed. Biracial? Mom was black - daddy was white," she claps her hands together. "Get jiggy with it and bam. You get one attractive baby named Juliet."

"Got my dad's nose, his eye color; and my mom's hair and, y'know, other facial features. And figure, thank God." she continues excitedly, pointing out the similarities. Her warm smile drops when she feels his eyes on her, so she stops speaking and at him. Butch is staring at her and the way his eyes move in slow deliberate strokes makes her realize he's taking the opportunity to lecherously ogle her. She punches him in the shoulder, slightly pissed.

"What're you doing, Butch?"

"Nothin', baby, just thinkin'," he says, voice rough and gritty. She's not sure whether to laugh or give in to her attraction to this seductive tone, so she laughs. And she laughs. She laughs _obnoxiously_ at the idea of Butch thinking.

Butch suddenly grabs her wrist and pulls her close to him, pressing their bodies together. His flirty blue eyes are now dark and mischievous, and it makes a shudder roll through her limbs. Juliet does their same song and dance, jokingly pinching his cheek, rolling her eyes, and squirming to get away.

It's different this time because he holds her tighter while he would normally let her go, arms circling her waist. He drops the picture of her parents onto her bedroll, leaning down to nuzzle his face into her neck. She can only hope the picture lands face-down because _holy shit_ what if they were both watching from "beyond". Fucking embarrassing.

"Come on, Jules." he coos, voice scratchy and seductive. Her muscles suddenly decide to go on vacation - her knees give in, give up, and she's buckling towards him. She reaches up to his shoulders and squeezes tightly to keep her balance.

Has _anyone_ ever had this effect on her? She's pretty sure even Harkness – handsome and "efficient" Harkness - has never made her literally _swoon_.

"I was _thinkin'_ about how much I like your hair," he says, emphasizing the words by slipping his hand up her back and weaving his fingers into her aforementioned curls.

"And your face," he accentuates this confession by pressing a kiss to her cheek. The gesture is supposed to be platonic and sweet, but it sends shivers down her spine nonetheless.

"And, y'know, I was also thinkin' about your ass."

Juliet fixes him with a deadly glare and sassy raise of her eyebrows when he reaches to grab her aforementioned booty. Butch retracts his hand slowly, like he's just had second thoughts about sticking it in a tank full of mirelurks.

"Um, point taken," he says, and she nods as if it's the most intelligent decision he's ever made.

It probably is.

Butch steps back with a slight cough, dropping his hands from her waist. Juliet lands a quick pinch on his ass as he turns to retrieve the merc orders. He yelps.

"Sorry. I was thinking about your ass," she says, impersonation of her companion spot-on.

"Yeah, whatever, y'bitch," he pouts, and then skims the paper again.

Butch slaps it with one hand after a moment, grinning. "Atta boy, Butch-man. You're worth a thousand caps!"

"Pretty sure that would be _me,_" she snorts. "You know, being the mysterious celebrity of the Wastes?" Butch snorts back at her, escalating a small, obnoxious argument between them about who sounded more like a pig.

When they're finished laughing, Juliet grew serious, stepped forward, and swipes the orders from him.

"Yeah, you're way over-priced. 500 caps? I wouldn't pay over 50 for you," she says playfully as she marches over to one of the other mercs and digs through his pockets. She doesn't need to turn around to know that Butch's eyebrow is raised practically to his hairline, and he's smirking like a bitch.

"Dunno, I'm not good at haggling. Maybe, if they were _really_ keen to get rid of you, they'd give _me_ 500 caps."

Butch pouts. "You hurt me real deep, Jules."

Juliet shrugs good-naturedly and plucks a few rounds from the corpse's pockets, moving back towards the camp and swinging her rifle down next to Dogmeat as she goes.

"Holy shit, mutt, how did you sleep through that?" she questions, shocked. Dogmeat lifts his head and whimpers at her, probably for waking him up. Juliet smiles and gives him a scratch behind his ear. His legs kick, and Juliet figures he'll soon be having nice dreams about chasing Ferals and training his teeth on Mirelurk shells.

"Fuckin' lazy ass," Butch says, and squats down next to her. "Thanks for helping, Dogm - Jules, your face."

Juliet frowns, ready to make a comment about _his _face. "Fuck you, DeLoria?" she says, a little curious and confused as to why he sounds _concerned _while insulting her. She looks up.

"Whoa, _serious_ medical emergency here. You're fuckin' _bleeding_ all over the place," he says. Juliet scoops items from her pack in search of the glass shard she uses as a mirror.

The cut on her upper lip has begun to ooze, leading a red trail down her mouth and neck. She winces, but isn't bothered in the slightest. She grew up in a medical background, and has the wits and skill to deal with such a minor cut, so why should she?

Butch, however, looks like his face has just been rubbed in Deathclaw shit.

"Aw shit, man, are you going to be okay?" he asks, worried but too squicked by her injury to come closer. He doesn't usually have a problem with wounds, but flips his shit when any of them are hurt. Juliet flicks him off then retrieves a cotton square from her med kit, the trusty one her father helped her prepare when she was young.

"Always pack the essentials, and you'll be ready for almost anything out there," he had said. The words echo in her mind as she quickly cleans the thin gash.

"God. You're such a pussy, Butch," she chides, turning to him with her hands on her hips. He obviously catches the challenge in her voice, because he steps closer.

"Ain't a pussy!" he says.

"Are too."

"Am not. Shut the fuck up, nosebleed."

"Are _too-ooo._" she drawls, drawing out the vowel in a sing-song tone.

Butch steps forward more, raising his hand. For a terrifying moment she thinks he's going to slap her and she opens her mouth to warn his _stupid ass_ to back off – but at the same time he swipes the cut on her lip with his middle finger. They're both _more_ than a little shocked when his finger slips onto her soft tongue, an accidental gesture prompted by her mouth falling open to snap at him.

For a moment, she debates stepping back and accessing the situation with a clear head. It's a fleeting thought, probably the best idea good idea. But her adrenaline is still pumping wildly through her veins from the brief fire fight, and the tight upturn to certain features of Butch's face egg her own.

Juliet closes her mouth around his finger, mirroring his smug grin before grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. He stumbles forward awkwardly, eyes fixed to her mouth and his other hand reaches up to cup her jaw. She groans a little dramatically for Butch's benefit as he presses his fingers deeper into the brown skin of her cheek, stroking slowly.

"_Jesus_! Jules…what are you..." He cuts off with a strangled, pleased growl when she suddenly applies suction. This is crazy and _totally_ inappropriate for two best friends, but _dammit_ if she isn't enjoying it.

Juliet's eyes hood slowly, smirking at the reaction she's able to get out of him. It's breathtaking to watch Butch's pupils dilate as she opens her mouth, panting cold air on his moist digit.

He drags it away from her mouth, tugging the edge of her lip with his thumb as his hand slips limply from her jaw. She's gets more than a little excited at the way he's staring at her. He's still locked on, dark blue irises raking across her lips, boring into her eyes, settling in to stare at her slightly opened mouth.

Juliet wipes the blood from her lip with the back of her hand, glancing down at the rusty red stain it leaves on her mocha-brown skin. When she looks back up, Butch is standing at the edge of the camp, arms stretched in the air behind his shoulders. His hands cup the back of his head, as if he's deep in thought – he looks frustrated.

"Well, that was certainly…interesting." she says, trying to break the strange barrier that has descended. She's surprised at butterflies flicking in her stomach, shivering at the cold wind that blows against her bare arms and legs.

"Damn right." Butch responds, but his voice sounds flat; far-away and distant. She realizes that maybe this has ruined their close friendship. Juliet frowns, wipes her mouth again, and then curls up next to Dogmeat, wrapping her arms around the mutt's neck and burying her face in his fur.

Ten minutes later Butch shuffles over to his bedroll. He doesn't make any noise, doesn't say goodnight, and doesn't tease her as he's settling, like he normally would do. The worried coil in her chest tightens, so she pulls up the blanket from her bedroll over her shoulders, and tucks Dogmeat's ears and paws into the warmth too.


End file.
